Wednesday, February 28, 2007

When the saint of patience dropped by, I was curled up, breathing carefully, on the couch of cuddle doom. Dark teal satin skirts lay over coarse horsehair crinolines, the weave black and stiff. Red-stained bandages covered my arms from elbows to wrists; my legs from knees to ankles.

For once he didn't ask.

For once I was grateful he didn't.

I could have told him, it was from the pain all day of putting out fires with my bare hands. From continuously reaching behind me, grabbing a bottle at random from unseen hands, and pouring it on the little blazes...and watching in despair, over and over, as they rose high and scorching, because someone else had handed me gasoline, not water. From madly rushing side to side across our great world, at first to answer to the distant screaming, and later to find any sort of mental distraction, no matter how temporary, no matter how stupid.

Amazing, that today of all days, didn't see me back at Deep Trances, buying a four-pack of Seclimine to take the edge off.

I was changeable today, as all high-stress days, but for once, it also concerned clothes.

The saint of patience, giving me some degree of his calm. I believe this is the first time in...ever...I've worn jeans and a t-shirt. Anywhere. That wasn't in some sandbox trying on clothes.

The shirt said, I never fake sarcasm. My friend--and the wife of my landlord--thought it appropriate to me at some point. I'd never worn it until tonight.

Hanging around Lumindor, all of three and a half feet tall, exactingly to belt-buckle height on most men. Which is a tad thrilling, but mostly just uncomfortable.

This was me getting lost in the forest, yet again...The saying goes, can't see the forest for the trees? Well, in Lumindor, you can't see the trees because of all the forest in the way!

And this is what happens when you fight the soul-killing fight, all day, between the fellow who's your pro-tem boss, and the woman who's your favorite hair designer, and half of Steelhead.

You get burned.

And I burned some bridges along the way, which I regret...I'm just not at my best when I'm trying to make peace with the metamorph who's intent on closing his store, while listening to the hair designer vent, and--at one surreal point--balancing the needs of a client, a very creative, but somewhat unthinking, builder, and said pro-tem boss. Who was also not thrilled with me.

At one point I had four people needing all of my attention and I just wanted to curl up under the bed and say enough. Enough. Please.

Please.

Enough.

Current build: I made the boots in the Lumindor picture. Quicky little default things, but it's nice to know I can.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Today, the demon's daughter was stalked by a somewhat seen presence. Panther, she said, but I wasn't sure. She heard paws behind her, seeing things out of the corners of her glowing eyes, and saw clawmarks on a rock she paused beside.

This is where things get odd.

It formed a rune, the clawmarks. A very specific rune. This rune, in fact:

Called Naudiz, Nied or Nauthiz, depending on translation, it's a sure sign of whitewater turbulence on its way. Many translations use "restraint" as the general descriptive, but more accurately, it's "constraint".

Restraint means simply that--the act of being bound or tied in place, the holding back, the limitation placed on self or others. Constraint, on the other hand, is a slightly different animal. There is always, always the implication of force, of enslavement, even, to ideals or goals. Subjugation of the self or others, by the self or others. Inherent repression. Caustic sense of denial.

Constraint.

Nauthiz.

I've spoken of whitewater turbulence; this rune says it's coming. But it also says, we're given the chance to prepare for it. Like, being given two weeks' warning on a major flood--you still may end up underwater, but you might have some time to get emergency supplies, and get away from ground zero, if you get yourself together and think things out.

Nauthiz is the crucible, the forge that can improve character, the impetus behind forcing great change, submission of spirit to will, submission of flesh to mastery. It tells you there is strength in such alteration, even though such alteration may bring destruction and misery in its wake.

It asks you, where have you limited yourself, and why? It asks you, to what goal, what god, what end have you given your power? It tells you to take it back, return to your center, heal outward.

It says, your hurt is worthless, your pain meaningless, if it does not cause you to improve. It says, have patience, know yourself, or goddamn learn over time. It says, nothing great comes without great effort, and great effort will be required to reforge your soul.

It says...consider the uses of adversity. Consider, your soul can only know light if it understands darkness. Concentrate on your shadow side, bring light and dark into balance, see what is going wrong within, and fix that. It says, patience, and wisdom, and self-understanding, will bring revelation, but constraint and caution are the bywords.

It says, ultimately...prepare yourself. 'Cause it's gonna get bad. And the universe is saying, it's gonna get worse before it gets better. And it's telling you, prepare for it NOW or be caught unawares and suffer, more than you ever imagined you could. Prepare, rethink, find your weaknesses, seek out your flaws...understand your nature...and you just might live through it.

It also says...it never appears without reason. So heed the reason, if you can listen intently enough to hear. The universe is saying, now you change. Or you fail. Live or die. Prevail or suffer.

It's saying, it's your choice.

It's saying...if you remain the same, you'll be destroyed. So learn what's made you the way you are, and remake yourself in a better image. It's saying, this may be your last chance.

...Haven't heard from the demon's daughter since. Hopefully, what little I got through helped. I won't know, I think, right away.

Current build: Spent more time developing the photography hobby again. Going to finally open a studio, I think

Monday, February 26, 2007

It hit me like a hammer, took me down hard. Literally--for one overlong moment I was on the grass, all of me thrown back, my sandaled feet kicking in the air feebly as I fought my own responses. I was struggling to breathe. It hurt, for a moment, brain and body linked, gasping, far from shore, far from whatever would have sustained me in that single, forever instant.

Then it was over. I was released from it. Breathing again, I stood, shaking only a little, accepting a hug from the fellow who'd watched, impassive but concerned. It was done. I was through it and out the other side. It was not the destruction I'd feared.

It was rebirth.

The demon was no longer on the profile.

The concerned fellow talked to me for a moment, made sure I was all right. Then he invited me to tour Prim & Proper's grand hall, to show me an exhibition of boudoir photography. I admit, I was surprised by who I recognized, here and there, in the shots. Still, it was an impressive undertaking. The naughty side of Victoriana, rarely seen openly in any of Caledon, yet proudly, unashamedly on display in that building, beautifully defiant.

I found myself lusting after many of the corsets and stockings, rather than the women, but it must be said, I wasn't entirely myself. I already knew where they got their opulent draperies, half-concealing most of the photographs--after all, I shop at Relic, too. But I was mostly impressed by the audacity, and the sense of play in many of the shots. I'm glad I went.

The far-too-late evening turned to morning, and, unintentionally, we parted--I had to seek sleep. I dreamt of his smile and his backlash sense of humor. I dreamt also of the demon, standing far away, full of his own regrets and mine.

It will ever be my struggle, for a time, not to try and bring him closer. But I truly believe this is the best option, my best option, his, and that it will bring us both peace.

Paradoxically, I'm growing closer to his daughter now. Not in the sense of intimate relationship--could never happen, she's too involved with a dear friend, and she is his daughter--but in the sense of friendship. It feels like it's time.

Current build: No build, fell into bed like a ton of stones, insensate within seconds

Saturday, February 24, 2007

The saint who brings me patience, and I, must needs be more patient still, because his schedule and mine of late have proven incompatible for long-term anything--from talking, to cuddling, to...whatever else.

He's also got a very old song quoted on his profile, for me. And it's a joyful, and a terrible, thing.

This is the song:

The other night dear, as I lay sleepingI dreamed I held you in my armsBut when I awoke, dear, I was mistakenSo I hung my head and I cried.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshineYou make me happy when skies are grayYou'll never know dear, how much I love youPlease don't take my sunshine away

I'll always love you and make you happy,If you will only say the same.But if you leave me and love another,You'll regret it all some day:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshineYou make me happy when skies are grayYou'll never know dear, how much I love youPlease don't take my sunshine away

You told me once, dear, you really loved meAnd no one else could come between.But not you've left me and love another;You have shattered all of my dreams:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshineYou make me happy when skies are grayYou'll never know dear, how much I love youPlease don't take my sunshine away

In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave meWhen I awake my poor heart pains.So when you come back and make me happyI'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshineYou make me happy when skies are grayYou'll never know dear, how much I love youPlease don't take my sunshine away...

(this version of "You Are My Sunshine" is a variant; it's taken from the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack. It's actually slightly more depressing than the original...but not by much.)

I hate the fact that he feels as if I've hurt him. But I've also been thinking about it, and...he's right. I have been. I have been inattentive, I have been more open with otherloves than with him, I have been willing to make time for others over him.

I have been careless with his heart, the gift of his spirit, and his love. This must stop. I do not wish to cause him pain, because of some disregarded whim, because of some mis-thought impulse, because of..because of anything I can change.

We're still working through some of the reasons I can't, and that is good...but being unwilling to change things I can change...that's going to kill us.

And I do not want that to happen.

Current build: Sorting through my inventory and FINALLY finding out what all those "Object" files are! It's going to take a while...

Thursday, February 22, 2007

1. Are you nineteen?2. Are you a demon?3. If no to 2, do you plan on becoming one?4. Do you understand polyamory?5. No, really, go away and think about it if necessary, then tell me.6. Okay, have this link: Polyamory FAQ. Read through that. Now, do you understand polyamory?7. Okay, it's slightly more technical, but read through this link: Polyamory Wikipedia Entry. Now, do you understand polyamory?8. Are you okay with me being polyamorous?9. No, really, be honest, it's an important question.10. Are you monogamous?

If the answers to 1, 2 and 10 are yes...I'll end it, I'll walk away, apologise, say I'll be happy if they want to remain on the client roster...but I will not fall in love with them. I get too hurt that way.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Of course he does. Of course the demon is not out of my life. Of course, it's not that easy.

Not that yesterday was, for anyone involved.

Just one more timeFor the sake of sanityTell me whyExplain the gravityThat drove you to thisThat brought you to this placeThat pushed you downInto the soil's embrace

But he wants to talk. And now the walls go up, and I must sigh and begin to climb. For my walls rising, that's instinct, self-preservation at its most primal, and I...I am unwilling, now, to be so harshly protected.

But this will not be easy, either. I am cutting my hands on my own thorns, snagging the tender exposed skin on rusted wire offshoots of roses that never lived in light. I batter my fists against the stones, seeking any small chink in defenses I set up nearly before I understood I could. Nearly before reason I had my walls; nearly before I could spell, I had my thorns.

I've had to.

Give me the chanceI was deniedTo sit and talk with youFor one last time

I pull myself, glad my form is smaller here, through a patch of crumbling masonry low on the dark earth. Reminding myself, even as I fight through, scraping skin from my arms and back, that I must return this way, and mend the breach so this cannot happen again.

Always on guard, some part of me. It gets wearying.

And I am now in my own way, as much as the demon stands in his own path. There is so much terrain to cross, mined and broken, before I reach th space where I will be free to speak. And I am reminding myself, over and over, that if hope is lost, so is love. As long as I have hope...

But then, I was not the one who spoke of endings. Just the tragedy of potential. I was not the one who walked away.

Did I disappoint you?Did I let you down?Did I stand on the shoreAnd watch you as you drowned?Can you forgive me?I never knewThe pain you carriedDeep inside of you.

And the problem is, none of the issues we had before parting have been resolved. My heart still loves many. His heart still does not understand. How do we resolve this now, when we could not resolve it before?

I do not want to sacrifice my neko, my cheetah, or what little ground I'm gaining, standing beneath the darkened moon. Though I have other involvements, and I am attached to them also...those I love in truth are growing fewer. There's been some...unanticipated attrition of late.

I can't forgetHaving to seeThe words that knocked the windRight out of meIt's not enoughI've come undoneTrying to find senseWhere there is none

What I'm left with is the desperate desire not to lose any more. Though my heart is already considering the demon lost.

But he wants to talk.

And I stand beyond my walls, sighing. Hills and valleys, depths and shattered rises, broken stones and forgotten inlets stretch out in twilight view. Forty-seven miles of barbed wire, between me and his side.

Just give me peaceYou owe me thatTo help ward off the fearsI must combat

This won't be easy. Nothing of worth is. But this...this is going to be rough, I think.

It's my curse. I cannot turn away from pain. Even if it causes me pain in return.

And so I askFor one more chanceTo understandThis senseless circumstanceHelp me to seeThis through your eyesThe reasons I've been tryingTo surmise

(words taken from "Disappoint" by Assemblage 23)

Current build: A series of strange and bizarre structures I then deleted due to oddity, yesterday. Today: working off and on finishing adding poses to my first cuddle rug. There's a skewed balance to that...

Monday, February 19, 2007

It's an interesting life at times. I'm dancing now, which means I'm happy, but I'm in a collar (which doesn't work), and silks (which okay, I like, but not as an everyday 'slave' uniform, and NO HEELS--which means I'm painfully short.

Bah.

But it's making me reflective, as I dance under the House of Doves...thinking on how I see people, here, how I interact with them...the whole world comes in through my eyes, I'm a very visual girl, but also, I rely not a little on the energy behind those other eyes I see.

Here I see someone, and they hit me with the energy of their presence, before I notice what they look like. It's very odd. Those I only see the surface on, don't pick up any glittering energy trail, they're just..there's no there, there. If that makes sense.

Like the woman here who reads as all electrical spark, and the movement of great masses of crackling charge, to me--rather than woman. Or the fellow who reads to me as rock, smoothed by time, warmed by endless days of sun, so peaceful, so restful to lie against, lay my cheek against the sun-warmed surface, and feel the peace of the deep, cool center within.

All sorts of people, all sorts of mental images I associate with how they feel, mentally, to me. The friend who's mercury on a rainy day--dissipating only temporarily, always coming back together, bright as hammered light and merrily skittering along the surface of each raindrop. The man who's a walking wound, and I keep trying to find the right bandage, so he won't hurt so, breathing. He lost his SL wife here, and I think he mourns her loss more than he's told himself.

The two men I know who walk armored through all their interactions. The style of plate may be separate, but I hear them by their clinking, and I know both of them would protect me to any extremity. And the one man I know who is not armored, and who is the spare plain the winds blow over, open to starlight and sun, shade and rain, to any influence...and yet says he's unharmed.

There is a surfeit of green in his wilderness, though, so maybe he is.

The one I know who comes across as voices, heard dimly at the mouth of the dark cave...I feel if I went closer, I'd be able to understand more, but that would mean going into the cave...and something in me shudders over doing that...and the woman who's all sharp flint and steel and glass shards embedded in canyon walls, with music spiralling up, enticing people into climbing down...but at some point, the walls become weapons, and it's never a good thing when the prey gets caught...

The woman who's like the smell of baking in a warm kitchen, and the feel of arms holding close around me, and it matters not that she's sarcastic and bitchy on occasion, she still feels to me very accepting, very warm, very touchable.

---

Time passes. Time does. I've been here for a while.

This isn't everyone, but it was who came first to mind when I started thinking about this. I'm now home, wrapped in the arms of my neko fellow, staring at the crackling flames in my carved stone fireplace. Thinking. Reflecting.

Reflecting. Irony, that. I don't know how others see me. But I've always seen myself as the broken mirror. Shards of someone else's reflection, put together in ragged pattern, shining only while the light lasts. What good's a mirror when no one's there to glitter across its surface? What good's a broken mirror for, but to repeat the broken image into infinity?

But I know I'm more than that. It's just the first image that comes to mind.

On another note, the broken shards are currently reflecting a distant image. And there's no comprehension as to whether the image is walking away or getting closer. I'm living in the breathless moment between watching him walk away and watching him step into my arms. It's unusual. Usually when things are this tense, this early, I think of walking.

But that's not me, here. That's not what I do. And I can't...there's a part of me that's had enough, enough drama, enough complication, enough...enough. But...

...there is another part that holds to hope. And while there is hope, there has to be potential. It should be one of the inviolate rules of the multiverse.

Broken mirror bits or not...hope should be true.

A scream a shout far in the distanceMaybe the first or second floorCurtains colouring the windowsNever see behind closed doorsA silent siege behind politenessDomestic harmony for showLost in the mirage of a marriageOutside a world she'll never knowAnd as I see through the real youI'm falling straight intoA thousand broken mirrorsI can't hideAnd outside the bright lightsCan't hide the pain insideAnd I've broken a thousand mirrorsNow it's timeNow it's timeNow it's timeNow it's time...

Loving her children with a passionProtecting them at any costTaking the only course of actionThere's no more bridges left to crossWho are the ones that are the guilty?Who are the ones that bear the scar?We must not leave our sisters bleedingWe sing this song for Tsoora ShahAnd as I see through the real youI'm falling straight intoA thousand broken mirrorsI can't hideAnd outside the bright lightsCan't hide the pain insideAnd I've broken a thousand mirrorsNow it's timeNow it's timeNow it's timeNow it's time... ("1000 Mirrors", Asian Dub Foundation)

He said, do you feel distance between us again? I had to smile sadly, and say yes. I told him how I felt it was happening, I told him how I thought it might be something he just had to be, to do. He was quiet and reflective and bid me goodnight early, and left.

He said, now you know everything about me. Now there are no more secrets. Now you will hate me and turn your face away. And he started to turn, in fact, to leave and never speak to me again, and I caught his sleeve, shaking my head. What did it matter, I told him, what did any of it matter, save for we cared for each other? He shook his head and left, possibly unconvinced.

He said, I should rest. I should care for myself. He hugged me many, many times, and I sighed, smiling, and asked if this meant he was no longer client, but friend. He smiled ruefully, saying he thought it was better this way. I shrugged, because I need clients, or I'm never going to make rent, but...I also agree. I've grown to care for him more than I thought I would, and he offers me the solace of his shoulder to cry on, or a listening ear, when I desire it. These are very good things.

He said, he was nervous. It had been so long since we'd been together without him having to leave, or my having to leave, so long since nothing untoward has happened....he was nervous with me. Nerves on both sides made us tentative with each other, then made me desperate and him teasing, and once we figured out the piano wasn't going to fall from the cloudless sky...made us both a little crazed. The distraction I'd sought, the physical joy to ease the heart's distress...suddenly I was weaving on my feet, shuddering and exhausted, overjoyed but wanting to stop...which is not something I usually need or want. He laughed, agreeing with me, but full of his old confidence again...so I can't begrudge the time spent.

And he said...damn it, girl, where are you, I need to you to take pictures for me...and I very nearly laughed in his face. Not to disrespect him, or to hurt him, but after the night I had...oh, it was just too funny.

At least he's never wanted to join the circle of existing challenges to love and limb...he just wants me to work for him, and contact people, and bring him what I've found.

Though, on occasion, he does wonder what it would be like...and I've admitted, I do too.

But one more spark of magnesium intensity, bright and flaring, I do not need...too much intensity in my life makes my heart race, and not in good ways. Plus, I'm slightly out of balance now, juggling the hearts I have...I truly do not need more at this point.

"So remember when we were drivingDriving in your carThe speed so fast I felt like I was drunkCity lights lay out before usAnd your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulderAnd I had a feeling that I belongedAnd I had a feeling I could be someone..." ("Fast Car", Tracy Chapman)

Belonging. Sometimes it's like a drug. Sometimes it's like standing in the attic, listening to the wind whistle through the empty room, wondering where the other part of me went. Sometimes I'm patient enough to wait for their return.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

I made my first hair today, and...it's not pretty, but I'm hoping I can disguise it enough to pass at tonight's formal in Steelhead.

The beginning of the hair.

The hair base from the side...

...and from the back.

Making the flexi strands (attaching them to a small round ball, because I couldn't think of how else to do it--this is making the strands flexi, then taking off the checkmark in the 'Flexible Path' box so that I can attach them to a non-flexi center.

Flexi attached. Along with a small nearly football-shaped front piece adapted from a circle form, and two curved side pieces for the sides of the hair that are tautly pulled back over a form in RL.

Nearly finished hair...

...and from the back....

...and done.

But here's my problem--as simple and uninvolved as this is, it took me five hours to complete. And, from what I've been able to find, there is nothing like this I've seen in world. How annoying.

On the plus side...if I get good at this...I am SO selling geisha and oiran hairpieces.

Current build: Built. Oiran hair. But there may be more styles in my future, and better hair textures when I can afford them.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

There's distance again, between me and my demon. Distance I'm growing unwilling to lessen. Mainly because...after all the troubles we've had, and they have not been few...I'm getting tired of always being the one to initiate things. I'm always the one to mend the breach first. To step close and say, we need to talk.

Let him come to me for once. Maybe it'll teach him something.

In the meantime, there's a different kind of distance between me and the red-skinned sort. My young demon has gone MIA, and sadly, I'm wishing him only the best in his continuing to stay gone. I wish I had more of a resolution for the situation, but I don't.

I know two things at this point: our relationship will not be the same as it was, and...I don't particularly want him as a pet in my House. I feel as if my decisions were abrogated, as if he has been dictating to me what happens. In my own House. That doesn't work for me.

There's no specific distance between me and my neko lad, but there is discomfort. Two days into deciding on his latest proposal, he withdraws it. Asks me to forgive him. Says he's being selfish.

As if I wouldn't forgive him, but...it's just so odd.

There's some distance between my ex-dancer and myself, but he's still healing from a heart blow, and I'm doing my best to be understanding. It takes some time. This I know full well. The entirety of December I kept looking down, and being surprised I was still bleeding from the wound the vampire princeling had dealt me. So I can't begrudge him his time to heal.

The one thing I'm grateful for, actually...there is no distance between me and the darkened moon. He stands in shadow, but I see him in reflected light, and he shines to my eyes, if not to his own. We talked until last night became this morning, this morning, and there was much advancement of causes and resolution of goals and merry confusion on both sides.

In other news, popped up the new skybox, and...that one's going to be interesting. The inside of the top domes are transparent, so I can see the sky, it's like the top domes aren't even there. Currently, I have a black iron bed next to an H.R. Giger-inspired particle lamp, a fur throw, my two spiders, the jar of eyes, the princeling's soul on the pentagram table--along with the incense burner and the blessing candle--and a sunset-striped-with-blue rose that the demon thought I'd like.

He's right, I do. I've left it where it sits on the mossy ground, braced by my spiders, and it feels very soothing there. I'm happy with this new home, I think. More than I was about leaving the Lotus up and unregarded.

It's all a journey, right? We're just steadily leaving the whitewater shoals for the clear easy waters in the center of the stream. Of course there will be turbulence and chaos. Movement always carries change in its wake.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Poured out my heart to the darkened moon at far too early in the far too early morning. Fell asleep in the laundry basket and had strange dreams cross-threaded between Steelhead denizens and Rivulan ones. Woke with an old sweater wrapped around my head, blinking out at the black marble floor of my home.

Went to a sandbox, and didn't build anything, for a very long time. Sorted through notecards, of all things, deciding what to keep and what to leave behind.

Then my neko boi withdrew his proposal and asked me to forgive him.

Has there been enough drama yet? I'm just not sure. Maybe we need something to really overheat and explode, showering us with hot metal shrapnel in the process.

But tonight's been calming, I went to watch Silas Scarborough play in Steelhead, and had fun dancing--by myself, with the neko lad, and with the darkened moon--so I didn't feel quite so set adrift on the seas of my fate.

I break down in the middle and lose my threadNo one can understand a word that I sayWhen I break down just a little and lose my headNothing I try to do can work the same way

Any time it happened I'd get over itWith a little help from all my friendsAnybody else could see what's wrong with meBut they walk away and just pretend

When I break down

I break down in the middle and lose my threadNo one can understand a word that I sayWhen I break down just a little and lose my headNothing I try to do can work the same way

Where are all the friends who used to talk to meAll they ever told me was good newsPeople that I've never seen are kind to meIs it any wonder I'm confused

When I break down, when I break down

Freedom, freedom, we will not obeyFreedom, freedom, take the wall awayFreedom, freedom, we will not obeyFreedom, freedom, take them all away...("Breakdown", Alan Parsons Project)

Yeah. Alone in the crowd surrounding, he said. And I tire of it, I do. And I reach out, but most of the time...it goes unnoticed.

Current build: Watching the hair designer magnifique both design hair for a current project, and restyle me with skin and hair, has made me want to learn hair at last. I think I shall start to work learning how to build hair.

He told me he wouldn't ask it of me again. It wasn't quite a promise. But there was implication, assertion, the offer of his own silence on the topic.

And then two nights ago, he asks me, do you remember that question I said I'd never ask again?

I tried to turn him from asking. If I can't say yes, I'm not above not wanting to hear it at all. But he would not be swayed. He would not be swayed and he did not give up the dream of being my husband, as I thought he had. For everyones' sake.

Now we're back here again, and he's given me another week to make my choice and stand by it.

One small shred of love...there is power in the smallest amount of it. There is faith, and hope, and love, and the greatest of these is love. Isn't that what they say?

But he also talks about sacrifice, and means mine, in the same breath he says he hasn't had to give up that much. He speaks of sacrifice, and how I should be willing to let things go, and means others who share my affections. He tells me he has not, will not, give up the dream of being my husband, being my support and my partner.

Sacrifice others I love. For his love. Sacrifice my many for his one. Give up everyone else who's touched my heart, for him alone.

How can he ask it? How can he ask this of me and mean it? Has he understood nothing?

The derailing is occurring now. And several of the club cars, I think, are on fire. The train-wreck love life is back with a vengeance.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Sorrow singsher kisses in silenceand adjusts the blinds to keep the lightfrom mocking everything I feel

Scattered bits of sunshine raining down like fragments of crystal ice, falling through warm air. Mind is half occupied with projects, scraps of build ideas, scraps of reactions to and against events of the moment.

I stand in a thicket of sharp thorns and winding tangled vines. I thought the path was clear. Now I'm entangled again, old thorns and new catching at my clothes, my skin.

Is it over? Should it be? I've forgiven, do I forget now? Are we falling back into past pattern again, so it will happen again?

I try to push through, I fail. The thorns are too long, too sharp. I risk self-injury if I continue. But...if I stand here, the overgrowth will choke all light and I'll no longer see the path at all.

The demon's daughter told me, never again. I agreed, never again. Can I hold to that? The vines rise on all sides and I want to lash out, use my claws again, but is the temptation wrong? And am I overthinking? I have claws, I use them, sometimes I scrape skin, I'll try to watch it--isn't that where it should end?

She dances slowlya silhouette upon the curtainsbut her eyes seem to cryonly empty tears

At the house in Tombstone today. Rugs on the floor now, furniture, the little Bromasole lamp with the spiral cream-glass shade. Home, for one part of me, for one part of him. Home? Violence outside, no more violence within? Home?

I place poses on the couches with all the judgement of a wine critic, changing, rotating by micro-increments. Is it enough? Is all my care for the place capable of transferring to the relationship? Do I want it to?

And the thorns are sharp, and I can no longer see the ground. I long to fly, but if I rise, and see no place to land, how is that better?

I beg for comfort with inadequate verseit meant so much to me... and so little to herand I am sinking into a mountain of self pitywhy can't I simply disregard all the things I feel?

And the dance spirals on in other areas...who knows how other things are going to work out, if they will, how they will, how they'll impact everything else...I still have the words of the darkened moon to heed, and consider, and I stand in shadow watching sunlight fracture three steps ahead.

I long to pull a blade and hack at the thornvines until my way is clear. But does injury lie in that impulsive action, as well? It seems to be, no matter which way I turn, how I go, there will be pain.

Train-wreck love life. It strikes again.

"where is my angel when I need him most?"

And who's saving me now? And who is it I want to save me? And why can't I tell them any of this instead of agonizing on my own?

The darkened moon tells me of the seven sisters, and each daughter's tale is a worse tragedy than the one before. I don't know what he's trying to tell me other than not to stand still.

"tell me now where did he go?"

And how do I walk the path that leads best to him? And which him am I trying to walk towards? And why don't I know, and why is the way to any path so tangled I have to stop and think? The end of paralysis...I'm waiting, by all my gods, I'm waiting, for revelation, for consequence, for understanding...and all I see are crystal-shards of sunlight in the distance.

I don't know where to go. I don't know how to get there. I don't know how to clear the path.

Gods. I never thought I'd even think this again, but...it was easier dating the vampire.

It's so hard. Part of me in this place is on her knees, reaching out, begging to be shown the way, to be led out of where I am back towards the discrete and understandable.

Another part wants to stand on her own and walk away, find her own path through the brambles, force her way through the overgrowth of thorns and break free of every tangle.

I can't see a middle ground. I think I've stopped trying, at least temporarily.

Tonight I went to the funeral of a friend. I wasn't his closest confidante; but I remember we talked, I remember we danced, I remember one night, when I was shaking, he sat beside me and talked me back to cheer. These aren't the acts of a stranger.

Tombstone will lack a small part of itself, but it will survive. The grave of Shucks Valkyrie will remain in town.

Monday, February 12, 2007

And in the shadowed spaces, late at night, I reach out to the other voice that spins me sweet words and sanity, for all that I'm not at his side. He's made his position clear. Mine is muddied. Perhaps it shouldn't be, but...I overthink things. And I agonize. It's ever been my way.

He has a way of reinforcing clarity. He thinks he's all reflected light but he's not. The problem is...on my side, I think. And may yet remain so for some time.

So the dance continues. At this point it's an arabesque, at best, over a simple waltz. Waltzes, after all, have never needed figure-eight intricate maneuvers to add in other partners...

The list of other partners is dropping away, anyway. One's traveled far from my shore; one's been broken by another love and is slowly recovering; one I'm afraid to come near; one wants to restart the relationship long left behind, and I'm still figuring out in my own head where he fits in.

It makes me quite tempted to swear off relationshipping entirely. And I might do so were it not for the man of few words, and the neko who brings me healing. Oh, there's love in my heart for the rest, don't mistake me--but I feel safe with those two. Where I don't feel most safe with the others.

No time to build and walking around in the world is leaving me gasping for air. It's not playing out to be the best morning.

Friday, February 9, 2007

Tonight, the great need rose to build, but to build, I must be alone, and I did not wish it. But the darkened moon was far away, and the demon I loved I was still wary of, and I did not wish to build near the people to whom I spoke.

It was a dilemma.

Last night, in an excess of desperation, I took the Russian home from the saloon. At first I thought I was too damaged, not stable enough, to share with anyone, but....it was slow, it was steady, and he wasn't dead at the end of it. That was healing.

Then the white tiger met with me, and it was short, far from sweet, and still he did not expire at the finish...and neither did I...and that was even better.

I'd been wearing bandages for most of the evening, the last evening, white bandages that were startlingly vivid against my deep black fur, and stained with red in spreading patches. Part of me found that only appropriate--for isn't it true, prick the one I love and I bleed?

Well, my claws pricked. So I bled.

And I finally found my next form.

Patchwork has a face.

The only problem is...I can't wear this skin. Something about my energy in it...where I bought it, I literally had people drift close to me, see me, and turn and stumble away. That's...not the best sign.

Tell me exactlywhat am I supposed to do?Now that I haveallowed you to beat me!Do you think thatwe could play another game?Maybe I can win this time?I kind of likethe misery you put me through.Darling, you can trust mecompletely.If you even tryto look the other way,I think that I could kill this time.... --"The Game", Disturbed

Thursday, February 8, 2007

And I knelt at the foot of the bed beside the corpse of the demon I loved, tears pouring down my face, and I raised my claws to my throat to end my life--

Wait. Let's back up.

Demon and I needed to talk. Yesterday he pulled what's becoming his perpetual trick--"I want to spend time with you" followed by "Hmm, she looks interesting, let's follow her home". I suppose it's better than Hellboy's alternative--"I want to spend time with you" followed by "Hmm, she looks interesting, let's drag her home for a threesome". Be thankful for small favors?

At any rate, I let him go, and let hours go by, and finally, sent an IM saying I was feeling perhaps the smallest bit of slightest neglect...and he got out of world. And I spent the rest of the day thinking how often this has happened of late, and what it bodes for the relationship in toto, and whether I should, or even can, continue this.

Over the course of the day I did personal research, wandered calming places, bought a bed, bought an anim package for it...dragged it back to Tombstone and started work reclaiming the hole in the ground under the cottage, into an actual room.

When time came for the Tombsstone meeting, I showed up a bit early, finally getting a Fizzworks HUD and a little pocket Derringer--fairly useless in a fight, but something's better than nothing--and wandered over to the meeting. Whereupon a storm blew up, lashing me into limbo and mist, until nearly eleven that night.

When I logged back in, the demon was still there, and we talked, a bit. About my inability to press of late. About his distractibility. About a lot of things. And he promised to meet me the next day, early.

Whereupon my late evening turned into a very early morning--partially, I admit, because I had to set eyes on the fellow building that evening, and recharge in his presence. I wore the very bright chrysanthemum kimono, in the bright colors he'd recommended I buy, and he complimented me, said it suited me. That warmed me more than my fire at home, and I stayed longer than I should have. I went to bed with dawn brightening the sky, stumbling into my house and falling on a couch, and woke some scant two hours later, groggy and feeling as if I were missing pieces.

But the demon called, and I went to his side, and we began talking again.

Timing. Timing of things. If he'd been more forward, less afraid, in December; if I hadn't wanted to offer my neko lad some partial replacement for turning down his marriage proposal...maybe things would have been different. But they are not, and we must go from here, regardless of how far here seems from shore.

We talked until talking had to end, cuddling on a low couch embracing, and then he asked me if I wished to punish him.

Punish him. Punish the incubus. ME. Dealing any sort of retribution to a Prince of the Court of Erebus. It seemed inconceivable.

He wanted me to hurt him. To claw him. Wanted me to lose enough control to claw him in the first place; but wanted me to lose control, which meant whatever hurt and anger I bore, I'd pour into the wounding; which meant I wouldn't have control of how deep I clawed him, or by which set of claws--the kitten's, the fox's, the demoness' long razor talons.

I was nervous. I tried to explain. But he pulled me down to the bed anyway, and...slowly began to drive me beyond all limits. The way he has...I revealed the secret of how I hide my fangs to him, and began to claw his shoulders, still keeping a tenuous thread of control...and he found a way to push past that.

Two things happened I think he did not truly anticipate. The first was, my genuine sense of outrage, secreted far down in my shadows, rose to preeminence. The second was, the threads of it bound together my demoness, my scattered Unseelie Sidhe, and they had control of my claws.

And we three used them. We sank hungry fangs into his neck, drawing at killing speed, drawing enough to make me reckless and drunk on borrowed power. We opened his back to air, eight ragged, bloody scrapes down, eight new jagged wounds returning. We pulled the claws, long and razor-tipped, through his shoulders, not over them, hooking on his collarbone and breaking it as we pulled them free. We screamed in his face, asking if he'd had enough.

He pushed. And I threatened to tear out his throat.

I am still trembling that I--I--could make that statement to anyone I love.

And still he pushed. And I set fangs to his throat.

And he gave in. Asked me to forgive him. Which I was always willing to do.

And then...he shuddered all over, and...died.

Sweeping cold wind through the eaves, the earth under the house, me, the corpse on the bed--I heard the demon's daughter clearly scream his name.

And then she was there, an avenging angel, the glow of her red eyes filling the subbasement room. She all but threw me off the bed, where I collapsed at the foot, sobbing, and she fought to bring him back with all the art he'd taught her and all the skill of her own abilities.

And for a moment...I lost all hope. I thought she would fail. And I set my longest claws to my own throat, sinking them in, preparing to feel nothingness again.

She pulled a gear from somewhere inside her construction and threw it at me like a shuriken. It knocked my hands from my throat and embedded in the soft dirt on the other side of the room. She screamed "Enough bloodshed!"--and her father breathed.

It is not what he would will, I am sure, but I must be wary of him for some time. I have never...killed...anyone I loved. I did not want to start with a demon. I will be wary. And even when he tells me he is well, he is recovered, that black-dripping wounds don't cut across his tattoos and his pale and perfect flesh...I must needs still be wary.

Tuesday, February 6, 2007

Last night, my demon told me to fall asleep in his arms, and after my body calmed, I did, sleeping peacefully, untormented by bad dreams.

I woke alone, as I'd expected to, and wandered, gathering up raveled bits of information to knit into a whole, before I was called back home. I was called back home because there was a neko on his knees, begging me to return.

I can't say no to that. No pet of mine--no longer--but I can't say no, I do not have the heart for it.

So I flew home, and gathered him up, and soothed him as best I could, holding him close by my fire, until he had to go. Along the way I got disturbing news, and that, combined with the frenzy of the day that preceded the night, combined to sedate me rather effectively. I bid him go and be well, and then fell asleep on the chaise in front of the fire.

Sunday, February 4, 2007

And somewhen soon after the darkened moon tells me there is attraction, and more liking than I knew, I suddenly realized my typed words were no longer going out over the wire.

And there Comcast ate the minstrel.

This is the frustrating thing about my cable service--most nights, at some random point between 1:50 and 3:10 am, it takes our net down. Some sort of service update, the point-and-reflect reset, whatever.

But if I'm up, and if I'm talking with people...it's annoying.

And the Sigil folks are going to be problematic. Last night, after my demon lover and I finished the lovely eternal spin on the red carpet in the Grand Hotel, we went to the preview of Tombstone, to see how it was shaping up. Not twenty minutes in, people started arguing in the main street. My love and I pulled over to the fireside, cuddling in a chair while shots rang out.

It was the Sigillians, killing each other over and over again. Idiots.

"In myths, legends, scripture and folklore, the category naga comprises all kinds of serpentine beings. Under this rubric are snakes, usually of the python kind (despite the fact that naga is usually taken literally to refer to a cobra,) deities of the primal ocean and of mountain springs; also spirits of earth and the realm beneath it, and finally, dragons.

"In Indian mythology, Nagas are primarily serpent-beings living under the sea. However, Varuna, the Vedic god of storms, is viewed as the King of the Nagas, ie. Nagarajah." (from this page)

This morning...the Naga arrived.

This should be fun.

I just have to remember to change before I go to Steelhead, because...there is not a Naga fan club there. Hmm.

Saturday, February 3, 2007

He says he remembers this little cyborg that used to use big words he didn't understand, and he used to nod in agreement and look mysterious when we went shopping at Curious Kitties...

I asked him, yeah, and what ever happened to the little cyborg-flutterby?

And he said, she bloomed into the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen.

::blinks::

Well, really. Even when an ex says that to you. What do you possibly say in return?

After the morning of intense stress and heart-pounding anxiety, all I wanted was to go dance and forget my troubles. But getting to the Steelhead dance proved nearly more problematic than all bearing--I actually crashed twice getting there--once by an entire sim folding up around me--and three times once there.

When I walked up, heartsore and twitching, the only two people there were the demon's daughter and the new Sheriff. I was too despondent to dance for a bit, and just sat on the stage, breathing, trying not to collapse. His daughter--who is becoming very dear to me--messaged me privately, and sent the most loving regards of her father, which helped more than either one of them, I believe, can realize. And she told me that he trusts me very much.

Well, I typed in. There may be hope yet.

There is always hope, she typed back.

And for now...though it will change, potentially even by tomorrow...I believe her.

Tonight she requested this song, on behalf of her father, and told me he thinks of me, when he plays it.

StandingVNV Nation

Eyes betray the soulAnd bear its thinking.Beyond words they saySo many things to me.

A stranger here reborn it seemsAwaking wonders deep in me.If nothing's ventured nothing's gained,So I must seize the day.

And fighting time so hard I prayThat this moment lasts forever.And will the world stay standing stillAt least for me.

Through my eyes stare into me.I bear my heart for all to see.With my face turned to the sunThere ever standing still.

It wasn't you it wasn't meIt wasn't anything.It was a day so long awaitedAnd a chance to be as me.

I let the wind run through my handsBefore I turned to walk away.In distant days I long toSense it all so clear.

And fighting time so much I ask.I will this moment last forever.Though seasons change and things come to passRemain inside of me.

I had no faith before that timeIn any vow or deed.Days followed days andYears were meaningless.Despite the wisdom of defeatI bore my heart for all to seeThe wonders I'd seen.The wonders I'd seen.

Okay. I can wait. I can be patient. I can breathe slowly out and be good. Time moves us all, and we just have to move with it.

But time speeds up and slows down for me, and Lowri wants to build. More time gone. Don't know how to manage what time I don't have now...

Friday, February 2, 2007

Okay, sure, there aren't as many Western sims as there are Victorian/fantasy sims, but still, it's frustrating not to be able to find some simple Western wear on a couple of keyword searches. I shouldn't have to get arcane with it.

How'ver, sideline search is bringing up a TON of tartan shops, for some reason, which is endlessly amusing to me. And there's an entire sim called Scotland. They've got provisions for sword dancing and everything. And I'm sure there's a caber toss going on somwhere...

In the meantime, I'm building a...thing. I haven't textured yet. I have no idea if this is even close to its final form.

The...cave-thing.

The back of the...cave-thing. Notice all the places that don't line up. Hank would collapse in complete patterning failure.

It's still completely untextured, because I don't know if I'm keeping it. I see so many flaws in this. I don't really know how I'm doing--on the other hand, that's how I've done my best learning, is to plunge in and make massive mistakes and kick myself down and pick myself back up again. It seems to work.

On the plus side, though...I really, really like the nook-and-crannies concept, lots of little curling-up spaces. Maybe I'll make it into a cave-bound cat tree.

Current build: the cave thing. I'm curious as to whether this is spectacular failure or mediocre success.

Thursday, February 1, 2007

I have this feeling he still doesn't trust me, this new man of mine. I think part of it's due to the fact I'm still active in the sim that fired him; that I still speak to people who hurt him deeply. I'm not saying the conflict of interest isn't there, just that, for my own peace of mind, I'm trying not to further conflict of any kind.

But I get the feeling he's unwilling to come closer, and may, in fact, have gone back to drifting farther away. And I'm so bad at stepping forward and saying, hey, I think this is happening, talk to me....tell me why you're leaving.

My compatriot in controversy tells me if I don't go after what I want, if I don't talk to him, that she's not going to tell God about the new title she's come up with for me.

She says if I let him pull back, let him go, because of some obscure need to not 'burden' him with my presence, and my joy in him, and my desire and my love...if for whatever reason I feel it might be better for him, to make his own decisions, independent of my feelings....then she's declaring me the Angst Angel. The self-generating perpetual angst machine. Devoted to my own destruction.

::sighs::

And she may not be wrong.

Okay, so now I watch and wait for him in world, and if he comes in, we talk, and hopefully he has time.

And if he doesn't, or doesn't have time...then I use his email for the first time.

::sighs again::

Love sucks.

Current build project: Revising the rickety abandoned hideout so that it's liveable for a demon and a kitten. We'll see how it goes. We don't hold great hope.

calendaria

about the Conductor

There is no train. That's why it's real. Behind the screen I'm a crafter, a writer, a fabric artist; I'm poetically inclined, sarcastic as a profession, and a great admirer of life's oddities, both good and bad. Online I'm mostly baffled, confused, and retreat to kitten space to cope.

Floods and winter storms devastating Malawi and Syria/Lebanon. Click the logos to find out more, including what they need beyond financing. Help if you can.

(Both Shelterbox and Caritas Australia are helping the suffering in Vanuatu; I'm listing both because while they have a commitment to helping everyone, Caritas is a religious organization, and Shelterbox is not.)

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